


1D Tumblr Ficlets

by from



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Awards Presentation, Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Couch Cuddles, Flying, Future Fic, Holding Hands, M/M, Rituals, Service, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from/pseuds/from
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've started filling prompts and writing response ficlets over on my tumblr. I thought I should probably collect them in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. be right there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "[THINGS YOU SAID IN THE RAIN](http://fromward.tumblr.com/post/131492382034/things-you-said-in-the-rain-pls) PLS!! :)"
> 
> ziall | cannes 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the mini prompts [meme](http://fromward.tumblr.com/post/131456847144/send-me-a-pairing-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write)

There’s freezing mizzle coming down, the lights along Boulevard de la Croisette a soft glow on both their faces. He can hear the telly through the glass doors and thick curtains, volume up the way Louis left it a few minutes ago, fed up with not finding footie commentary that’s not in French.

“It’d be sick,” Niall says, his quiff on its way to collapsing. Zayn wants to push Niall’s hair back so it doesn’t fall over his face when it finally goes, but they’re a little too far apart for him to do it with his unoccupied hand. “What you said in the interview, doing our next video on the moon.” Niall is gazing up into the sky as if he can see the stars even though there’s just beads of cold coming down. He looks so young still, as if they haven’t been doing this for years now, as if he hasn’t been losing time just like the rest of them. “I mean, I know we can’t but. It’d be sick.”

“You never know, Niall. You could ask the boys at NASA, maybe. Get us on the Space Station at least.”

Niall laughs, the side of his thumb going up to his mouth though Zayn can see there’s not much left there but skin to worry. “Be like the next Chris Hadfield.”

“Is that the guy who did the Bowie track?” Zayn flicks his cigarette off the balcony. It’s got damp and he’s never enjoyed it when he smokes near Niall anyway.

“Five, four, three, two, one, lift off,” Niall says.

When he looks back from the stretch of pavement where the cig has fallen, Zayn realises Niall was quoting the song. He has that look about him. The eyebrows raised because he knows what’s coming and is excited about it. The body leaning in because that’s probably how scouts stand at their sing-alongs.

“ _This is Ground Control to Major Tom. You’ve really made the grade …_ ”

Zayn is rolling his eyes, but he knows he’s got to do it. “ _And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear. Now it’s time to leave the capsule_ ,” and Niall joins him in perfect time so he can do a run on the last note, “ _if you da-a-a-a-are_.”

Niall laughs, cheeks going a deeper pink. “We need to do that on stage. Next tour. And you need to sing it just like that. I’m gonna ask Jon to do it for when we introduce them.”

“You’re not going to remember to. Tour’s not for another four months,” Zayn says, though he’s just trying to comfort himself. Niall always remembers and it might as well be a fortnight. They’ve been done with the last tour for over a month and Zayn still feels like he’s got to be ready for another show tomorrow.

He slides the door open and puts a hand on Niall’s back to get him inside first.

“Yeah.” Niall’s arm reaches around his waist and they crabwalk in. “Still can’t believe we’re doing stadiums next year.”

“I know. It’s crazy, like,” Zayn says, stretching, rubbing the damp off his arms. He closes the door behind them, glad to be inside again though the itch for a cigarette is still there, waiting for a proper fix. “Remember those clubs we did when we started? We pissed our pants every night, and now you look back and they’re so small.”

“They’re nice, those venues, when you think about it, like from the audience’s point of view or if it’s what your music needs.” Niall sweeps up his things – wallet, key card, phone – from the line waiting for him on the coffee table where he left them. “Did Harry tell you? We went to a gig at Shepherds Bush Empire last week to see this new band he’s into. It’s like, what, maybe two thousand capacity. The hall was perfect for that kind of rocky, indie music with a bit of synths.”

Zayn shakes his head, shutting the telly off with whichever one of the two remotes he’s got aimed at it. All the travelling he’s done and he still finds remotes he doesn’t understand. “He told me he went and watched the gig from the standing area, but he didn’t tell me you were with him.”

He follows Niall to the door with too many things to say. There’s something coming up along, he can feel it, and he’s a little worried for Niall. Perrie told him he doesn’t know how to do things for people when he’s not with them, when he can’t talk to them, and he knows she’s right. For once, though maybe not entirely, he wishes they still shared hotel rooms instead of having their own. “That idiot is gonna get mobbed one day. You too, Niall, if you keep going with him. The rules are there, plain and simple, like, there’s no need to test them when it’s for your own safety.”

“Come on, Zayn. It wasn’t about that. I just wanted to go see a show.”

He doesn’t want to think about Niall surrounded with nowhere to go, maybe getting trapped without his inhaler, maybe getting stepped on. Only Harry there. “Then watch from backstage.”

“You know it’s not the same,” Niall tells him, stopping at the door. “’S like being in here and being out there,” he gestures to the balcony.

“Yeah, it’s warm in here,” Zayn points out.

“And it’s beautiful out there.”

Niall isn’t insisting, but Zayn feels himself giving in anyway, his mind right back in the rain, where the hazy glow of streetlights bathed them. It’s those fucking earnest blue eyes. He always wants to laugh when he sees them turning Harry cooperative but he’s just the same. “What, singing in the rain?”

“Us two singing ‘Space Oddity’ in the rain.”

Everyone assumes it’s Louis who always has the last word in their band, and he often does, but sometimes Niall says things that are too hard to reply to. Zayn looks away and finds the lock just behind Niall’s hip. He leans against the door instead of reaching for it. “You secretly wish you were that astronaut guy, making music up in space.”

“No secret about it.” Niall shrugs.

“All right,” Zayn says, wanting to soothe over that dead-end dream. “Get us seats on the space shuttle then. We don’t need a crew. Just that camera we used for Comic Relief.”

“I’m not getting us space flights. Who do you think I am, Lance Bass?”

“Oh, my mistake. Must be the bad dye job,” he says, flicking Niall’s hair back.

Niall shoves at him, though it’s more like a shove and grab, they’re so close. “Shut up.”

Zayn pulls him into a hug, dropping a kiss on his forehead when he feels Niall relaxing into it. “Just don’t wanna see you hurt,” he says. And quickly adds, “Not because you’re the baby. That’s Harry.”

“Big old baby,” Niall puts in, half-muffled.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not that,” Zayn says. “Just don’t wanna see you hurt,” he repeats. He gives Niall another kiss, a hard one on the cheek this time. “’Night, Niall.”

“’Night, Zayn,” Niall replies. There’s a sound like wonder in his voice and Zayn keeps it even as he lets Niall go. He keeps it tight.


	2. from the top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | spring 2016 | fluff, pda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in [response to an anon](http://fromward.tumblr.com/post/131234720249/hi-you-know-that-little-narry-thing-you-wrote).

There is a whoop down their row when they hold on to the Top Touring Artist award. Liam gets up, a big grin on his face, and steps sideways into the aisle to let everyone out one by one. Harry first, then Niall, then Louis, who tussles with Liam and Niall, bringing them into a rowdy group hug.

Harry is already halfway down to the stage, his velvet jacket buttoned up again, and keeps going, mindful of how Liam got cut off at the podium last time they were at the BBMAs.

But after a few more steps, he has to pause. He looks back, using a handshake as pretext. Niall is stumbling out of the hug, flushed, eyes on him, and he knows to wait, never mind the chivvying by the production staff just behind the tracking camera.

Despite the well-wishers, Niall catches up quickly and puts one arm around him.

He turns into what he thinks is going to be his share of the hug because Niall likes to do that, spread the hugs and fist bumps so everyone is in on them eventually, but it’s Niall gently planting one on him, soft lips catching his mouth, eyes shut.

He doesn’t know why his mouth is falling open further. Maybe it’s to say ‘did you mean to get my cheek because you didn’t so here it is,’ or ‘is that what was that,’ or some other inane thing, but Niall is already off, hands in his trouser pockets, sauntering up the stage.

Harry follows because freezing on the spot is a big no for television. His face feels tight, like it doesn’t want to do what he wants it to do. His bit of the speech they prepared just in case comes at the end so he can’t even busy himself.

He steals one look at Niall, who is staring off into the back of the arena while Louis is at the mic thanking their team. His nose and the dimple on his chin are really kicking off under the stage lights. Harry wants to tell him that, in case he’s got a case of nerves or he’s losing it a bit, this possibly being their last touring award for a long time, which would explain that kiss. But Niall is up next and his delivery is flawless, and then the mic is Harry’s for the close.

“Ah, a big thank you to Billboard. You’ve been very supportive of us throughout our career.” He clears his throat. “Thank you to our incredible fans. You’ve given us so much.” And there’s that tug again. “You’ve …” He looks over, blanking, and Niall is there, eyes back on him. 

Harry quirks a brow and Niall nods, a small pleased smile on his face, as if they rehearsed this too and Harry is right on cue.

Maybe he is. Maybe that’s what Niall just gave him.

He smiles into the audience, then into camera seven. “ You helped us make our dreams come true. You supported us around the world. We’re really excited about the future. We hope you are too.”


	3. look us up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | flying, grumpy Niall, service, LA | 1K

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written after seeing footage of H carrying two bags and N carrying none out of LAX. ( _[insp](http://goniallandharry.tumblr.com/post/133407679582/atharrystyle-1611)._ )

  


“Hey,” Harry shakes him lightly, “we’re almost there.”

Niall’s eyelids flutter open, the dried crusts on the sides showing when they break apart. “Yeah?” He rubs his eyes and the crusts disappear. Harry wants to know where to. His finger pads, the air in the plane? He’s only just seen them.

“What are you looking at me like that for? Did I drool on myself?”

“Sadly no,” Harry tells him, still whispering because he’s meant to be on voice rest. He sits back and stretches to nudge Niall’s knee softly with his socked foot. “How’s it feeling?”

“Ow??” Niall grumps and moves his leg away.

Harry nudged softly enough, which means Niall didn’t take the whole sedative even though he’s allowed to, what with the knee and the anxiety. He wonders sometimes what it’s like to be so anxious that you’re anxious about the pills meant to be helping you. And LAX has shit memories for Niall.

“We’re landing in about five minutes. Are you going to change for the walk to the car?”

Niall huffs, closing his eyes again. “No way. This is your town, Styles. You take point. I’ll just shuffle on far behind, if you don’t mind.”

Harry glances out the window, sees the shore and the sprawl, the promise of sun on his skin and everything underneath being filled up again. And Niall there with him to brush up against, to make sure it’s real and he’d be an idiot not to know.

“But you’re still coming to mine?” He asks quietly. 

“Maybe,” Niall says, “Or maybe I’ll ditch you and find a nice posh hotel where they’ll ice my knee and be nice to me instead of making it worse.”

Harry exhales and goes back to looking out the window. “If you’re going to be a twat to them too, make sure you tip with fifties.”

The plane descends faster, the Pacific turning greyer the lower they get. He should ask Niall to look up why it does that, maybe after the ice pack, and a meal and a shower.

There’s a hand on his arm, and Niall is switching from the seat across to the seat next to his even though they’re in the middle of landing and everyone should be fucking seated wearing their fucking belt. He can feel Basil snapping to attention from the front.

“What–” He turns to press Niall down into the seat. “If you fall and fuck up your knee …”

“Yeah,” Niall laughs, buckling the belt and shaking his head. “Don’t know why I did that.” He pokes his head up. “Sorry, Baz. I’m fine. Just wanted to sit next to Harry and hold his hand.”

Basil grunts something and Niall gives it back to him but Harry’s attention is fixed on how Niall is actually holding his hand. It’s not what they do. He can feel his cheeks warming and wonders if his tan is still dark enough. Against Niall’s skin, he’ll always look tan, but he might need more for LA. 

“I was being a twat,” Niall says, squeezing his hand and letting go. “I won’t be a twat at your house, I promise. Thank you for having me.”

Harry nods, meeting Niall’s eyes. “Thank you for having me in London,” he replies, a little surprised by how good the words feel coming out of his mouth.  

Niall laughs and looks away, playing with the strap of his seatbelt all the way down to land.

Harry carries both his and Niall’s bags to the first car, striding well ahead so Niall can get to the other car with no bother. 

When he gets to his house, the second car is driving away with Basil pointing behind him.

He finds Niall round the back, lying on one of the cushioned cabana chairs in just his polka dot boxers and sunglasses, his terrible hat hair flopped to one side. His knee looks stiff and unhappy, but he seems asleep so it’s probably not hurting badly. It’s Niall with no sunscreen that Harry is more concerned about.

They looked up freckles once, he, Niall, and Zayn. Niall had got badly burnt in Australia, where he should never ever live, Harry thinks, or he’ll get skin cancer and die a painful death. Zayn said they should count Niall’s freckles and keep track of them with photos. That was when Niall left the room, taking the tablet with him, and they never did get round to it.

Harry could easily take a photo now, get the ones on Niall’s front, at least. Niall might spend more time in LA when break starts because he could always stay with Harry the way Harry will stay with him in London. They should probably start cataloguing his freckles.

“Are you taking my photo?”

“No,” Harry replies truthfully. He got distracted by a text asking him if he got in all right. “Just reading a text from Gem.”

“When you’re done, will you let us in? I could use a wee. And an icepack, if you have one.”

“I might. If I don’t, I’ll run out while you’re doing your wee.”

He goes back round to the front and punches in the code to the garage, grinning at his 230 SL as he passes by to get to the kitchen door. It’s cool inside, and his post is waiting on the kitchen island next to a bowl of apricots and oranges. 

He unlocks the sliding doors to let Niall in, still just in his boxers, all his freckles now with a sheen of sweat to them.

Harry pours a glass of flat mineral water for himself and pours Niall one too over some crushed ice. 

There’s no proper icepack in the freezer, but he’ll make one with a tea towel. He’d rather a makeshift one he has to change after ten minutes than the drive to Rite Aid. 

He’ll do it with his clothes off, out by the pool, and let the day run on, Niall’s skin dripping sunscreen and ice water next to his. 

~


	4. not all of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | accidental handholding, futurefic, BRITs 2016

The dark walls of the O2 are roaring. It’s their fourth of the night and even Adele is clapping for them. Everyone at the table is already bright-eyed from champagne and winning the most prestigious award they’re nominated for seems like another step closer to the precipice, the hiatus now just weeks in front of them. When he gets up, Harry almost can’t feel his legs.

He’s marvellously upright in their group hug, though, Niall’s hair tickling his cheek and Louis’ shoulder brushing against his, Liam’s grin pressed up against his ear.

Someone tucks his chair under the table and they break off to start moving toward the stage, Liam on point and Louis close behind, steadying himself with a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

Harry pauses for a second to button his suit, opening himself up to congratulations from a label owner who says to him there’s surely no more room at the band’s table for more of the space-age revival trophies. Harry tells her that could be true but he’s got pockets, doesn’t he, and suddenly it feels like half the guests around him are up laughing and patting his back. It’s not that funny a joke, really, but it’s not just their table that’s been steadily getting sloshed.

Niall comes up beside him, cleverly looking up at the circle seats to avoid catching anyone’s eye, and puts a hand on his arm to get him going.

Harry pushes his arm into Niall’s grip because even though Niall is very clever, the arm is the only bit of Harry that’s going to be able to move at the moment. He tries to tell Niall this in eyebrowspeak. Niall lets go and steps back, apparently not getting it at all. That’s when Harry catches Louis shaking his head at the lollygagging and so does Niall, who drifts in Louis’ direction but not before another try at grabbing Harry.

Through the press of bodies, what Niall’s hand grabs is Harry’s hand instead, hard fingers curling over the side of Harry’s palm, the grip unshakably firm. It’s like those early afternoons on tour and late nights at the studio whenever Niall decided he’d had enough and Harry had to make a choice between more mint hot chocolate in his room and sneaking up to the rooftop before sound check, between napping on any available surface and hearing what Julian has to say. Except it’s not quite like any of those times because Niall is already moving and isn’t giving him a choice.

Harry doesn’t know if he’s the one who manages to slip through or if it’s the crowd that falls back. All he knows is that Niall, striding ahead and maybe too buzzed or nervous to think, is holding his hand halfway down the winner's walk. 

He tries to call Niall, just to get him to look over and see what's happening, but it's no good at all. He'd have to shout over the clapping and the music. He doesn't want to do an emergency stop and pull out of Niall's grip either, though, because it seems a little rude and Niall’s the best friend he’ll ever have, the one he’ll hang out with and talk to on the phone still over break. And if he’s honest, the sleeve of Niall’s suit feels rather nice brushing against the top of his hand.

Harry wonders if maybe he did have as much champagne as Louis. He looks away from the cut of the suit over Niall’s broad shoulders to give himself space to think and catches Grimmy’s raised eyebrows. He shrugs and puts up his free hand to say, _I don’t fucking know?!_ but it’s probably coming across more like _Scrabble on a triple word score, bitch!!_ because Grimmy starts to laugh that exasperated laugh of his and tilts his head to the side of the stage, where there’s a camera trained at the walk.

A prickle of chill runs through him. He takes two, three, fuck, four massive strides to best Niall’s and lands by his side just as they're at the steps. "We're holding hands," he says into Niall’s ear and gets a sniff of cologne and hair wax. "You should let go."

Niall looks down at their hands, his blue eyes large behind his glasses, and breaks into the kind of laughter that gets his whole body spinning from the force of it and will probably last a good minute or two. Harry, starting to giggle because Niall's laughter has never not got him going, manoeuvres him up the steps, not wanting to still be on the floor with Louis already starting his part of the speech.

They get up behind Louis and Liam, Harry marking a spot he hopes is far enough away from the mic and letting Niall fall in. It's no good, though, not even with the stage lights bright and hot over them. They catch each other's eye and Niall goes off again.

Louis manages to finish thanking their fans, but Niall’s laughter is set to drown out all the speeches. Harry feels the attention in the O2 waver and shift like whenever there was a play fight on stage during someone's solo.

A couple of sentences into thanking their team, Liam shakes his head and turns. "What's going on, boys?" He asks, half into the mic.

Niall manages to stop laughing, which is good because Harry doesn't actually have an answer of his own. "I thought I was pulling Harry along by the arm, but we were holding hands all the way up here," Niall explains, and promptly starts laughing again. The story is honestly not funny told like that, Harry thinks. He’d assume Niall was bricking it because Niall usually tells stories really well, except Niall’s eyes are shut and that usually doesn't happen when he's laughing because of nerves.

"Harry, do you have something to say?"

"I didn't do anything, Liam!"

The mic must be catching his voice too because there's a wave of laughter from the audience.

Liam gives him one of those I’m-too-young-to-be-your-dad looks that stand for a telling-off when they’re in public. "No, I mean about the award."

"Oh, ah …" He's blushing now. He can feel it. Fuck. "Sorry.” He steps forward. “This is all very confusing."

"Yeah, it is a bit, lad," Louis pipes in, getting another laugh from the audience. “Do you maybe want to ...?” he motions for Harry to address the mic.

"Thank you very much,” Harry says into the mic, more than a little embarrassed. “Thank you to everyone who's supported us. Our families …"

Backstage, Louis and Liam head straight for the press room, whispering over the statuettes about important things they’ll probably withhold from him for a while even though he’s done nothing wrong. Besides, Niall already apologised (unnecessarily, Harry thinks, for them both) and everyone always forgives Niall.

“Wait,” Niall says, and Harry stops not quite a pace away from him. “I just want you to know,” Niall pushes his glasses up with a knuckle to the frame, “I don’t really know why I laughed.”

Harry suddenly feels shy in the patch of corridor that’s theirs for the moment, but when Niall doesn’t say anything else, he has to ask. “What do you mean?”

“It was a funny situation, I do know that,” Niall tells him, soft and sincere, “and I’m a bit pissed, we both know that, but that’s not all of it.”

“Okay …”

“We’re never going to talk about this again, are we? So I’m telling you now: that’s definitely not all of it.”

Harry opens his mouth, but he should’ve known, really. Nothing is coming out of it, not round here, with dozens of phones and backstage passes floating about on strangers. He settles for nudging Niall onwards, to the madness of the press room, to the evening gone and the break coming.

~


	5. all you need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | travel, rituals, gift-giving | can be read as a prequel to [look us up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5105132/chapters/12124109), nov 2015 | 1K

Tonie sounds like she did the time she couldn't get a direct flight from Ireland to the States for Bobby. Not good. “I tried the shop on Marylebone High Street, the one in Westbourne Grove, the one on Brook Street, the one in the City. I also tried Harrods and Selfridges. I even went in to Liberty to try our luck because I couldn’t get them on the phone," she says. "They’re all out of the cinnamon one you want.”

Not good. Niall rubs his eyes and stretches his left leg on the desk chair. Some days he really hates his knee. “How is that possible?”

“I haven’t a clue, Niall.” When Tonie gets posh on him, he knows she’s hit her limit for the day. “I’m still in the centre. What would you like me to get instead?”

There’s no reason why he wouldn’t be able to get it in LA. He could probably get her to arrange a delivery to Harry’s house.

But he wants to get on the plane having the candle with him. He doesn’t want to think about maybe not having it on the other side to fall asleep to.

Tonie has been his assistant long enough to know he's dithering. He can hear her talking to the salespeople wherever she is. “They have an orange and cinnamon one. It’s called … Excuse me, what’s that one again? Pomander. Ta. Or there’s a Christmas one with cinnamon in it.”

He walks into his bedroom and picks up the candle that blew out crooked last night, pokes at the soaked wick and what’s left of the wax. He wonders if it’s a bit pathetic to pack a dead candle in a bag.

“Can we order it on the internet?” He asks, putting the glass back where it was.

“Not from anywhere that can deliver before you have to get on that plane tonight. I can try LA and have it waiting for you there.”

“All right,” he says, taking the bit of skin he’s just pulled off his ring finger out of his mouth. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Should I get one of each of these two here anyway? You can try them. Maybe they’re close enough.”

“Yeah.” He’s got to finish packing, send off a few emails. “Good idea, Tonie. Thank you.”

He never travelled with candles until Harry. He survived the first two tours without caring what they were or what they were doing in Harry’s room. It was the stadiums, him closing out the bar every night because he couldn’t bear getting back to his room and lying awake until dawn, being on edge in the mornings, driving everyone mad like he used to drive Greg mad when they were kids.

Harry is especially homeless at the moment because his house sold after only a week on the market, and he's just been in Cheshire the past few days so it's even more of a long shot, but Niall is desperate enough.

He looks at the candle, holds it up so he can see the name, and sends Harry a message,

_U got Diptyque Cannelle ? Just for the flight_

His phone buzzes when he’s packing his socks.

_Can’t light candles on the plane_

Niall is about to curse at Harry for being a smartarse when another message comes in,

_I’ll have one on me_

_Tonie tried all places. Sold out can u believe_

_I’ll have one on me_

Niall exhales. He wants to trust him, but the day just hasn't gone right, hasn't been the steady kind he needs.

He goes back to sorting through his socks. Do four pairs for every colour jeans. A couple of extra fancy pairs in case he spends time with Harry's LA people, especially that couple who make everyone wear hotel slippers in their house. The sport ones for golf and the gym.

Tonie gets to his house an hour before he has to leave for Heathrow. They try the candles, but neither smells right. He tells her to take the special Christmas one for herself and holds on to the regular one.

They go through his schedule, marking the off hours carefully so he knows how to find them. He gets a bit hungry halfway through and makes two smoothies, one for her and one for himself. Peanut butter because why not and because he'll be in Harry's house for a month, where there's probably only coconut everything.

She brings out the guitars he's set aside while he goes for a quick final check round the house. When he's ready to close his case, his eyes wander back to the dead candle on the dresser. He zips the case shut and takes it out of the room.

He's on the plane before Harry is, but Basil tells him that Harry's car was just five minutes behind theirs.

“Here," Harry pushes a familiar white box at him as soon as he's on and his bag is put away. “I got my Christmas shopping done early.”

Niall knows he's beaming because Harry flushes pink. “Thank you," he says, embarrassed for himself, for being used to things like stupid candles and having other people know. "I’ll get you a replacement.”

“No. You’re fine," Harry says. He sits down, asks the flight attendant for a coconut water.

Niall resists rolling his eyes, the boxed candle heavy and solid in his hands. “Whose stocking did you pull this out of?”

Harry takes out his phone and unlocks it. “Yours.”

“Oh." Niall doesn't have anything for him yet. It's a little early for piling up Christmas gifts. “Cheers, Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, eyes on the screen.

When they're in the air, Harry turns to him and says, "You could switch to the ones they have the giant size of. Those are never sold out."

It takes a second for Niall to understand what he's talking about.

"I like this one."

Harry smiles, pushing his hair back. "Thought you might say that."

  
~


	6. awol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | in the caribbean | drabble

It takes a day and a half to get from Miami to Panama, the boat skirting the Gulf in darkness before the straight shot south across the Caribbean. Niall grows from a dot to a figure to a man as they approach Bocas Marina, already at the slip for a quick retrieval. He looks pink and rested, and maybe a bit bored, the backpack and nylon holdall in a pile by his naked feet. Harry’s skin feels hot, sticky from the salt air and the midday sun, when he raises a hand to wave at him. In the New Year, Harry thinks, he’ll do better at covering himself up.

“Didn’t think you’d make it, to be honest with you,” Niall says when the ramp butterflies open, flashing in his reflective lenses.

Harry walks down smiling and takes the backpack from him. “Had to, didn’t I? Kept you waiting long enough.”


	7. further than you thought (you could)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> narry | clothes-sharing, cuddling, angst, London | 1.6K

Harry closes the door behind him after he gets buzzed in, the lights in the foyer bright to his eyes. He pockets his car keys and takes out his phone before he hangs up his coat, careful to keep the gold buttons from catching on anything. He likes them shiny.

There’s a smell of cinnamon by the stairs. He’d think Niall was napping with his candles lit, but Niall couldn’t have let him in from his bedroom.

He wanders round the first floor, feeling a little warm, and finds Niall in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar. He’s got a jumper and trackies on, rumpled like the last time Harry saw him, still asleep in his bed, three days before Christmas. They’d fucked for hours the night before, Harry’s tongue raw from all the licking and sucking off he’d been allowed to do.

Fucking hell. He never thinks it’ll be like this, but it always is.

“Hey,” he says, when the fierce longing feels like it’s shot clear through and he’s back to being himself again.

Niall looks up from his magazine and laughs. “You been out on the pull?”

“No?” Harry startles, looking down at what he’s got on. Just boots, black jeans, and a black button-down. His cross. 

“Then why are your tits out? It’s freezing out there.”

“’S hot in here,” he points out. Niall is usually so good with the heating. Optimal to the first decimal.

“Lucky you since you’ve got your tits out.”

Harry deposits his phone on the counter, next to the fruit bowl filled to the brim with apples and oranges. “Are you going to keep saying that?”

“As long as you’ve still got your tits out.”

He frowns, feeling put out now. “Why are you clothes shaming me, Niall?”

“Honestly, Harry,“ Niall says, closing the magazine shut, "put a jumper on. You’re making me feel cold just looking at you.” He scratches his nose and adds, “’Sides, Willie gets back round this time of night.”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t care. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”

“If I have to hear the word _booty call_ again …”

“ _Booty call_ is two words, Niall.”

“Christ,” Niall makes a face. “Come here.”

Harry does as he’s told. 

Niall pulls his jumper off, his white undershirt tugged up along. Harry wants to run his fingers along the little rolls on Niall’s stomach, catch Niall’s bumpy skin under his fingernails, turn it red. 

He’s not so good at this not wanting thing.

“Put this on,” Niall tells him, holding the grey jumper out between them.

“It’s a crewneck. It doesn’t go with this shirt. Haven’t I taught you anything about collars and points?”

“If you did, I wasn’t listening.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Niall says, fingers already going down the line of buttons on Harry’s shirt. There’s only half of them left so it’s not that much work to complain about. 

Harry tells him about the train of ducks he saw on the drive over, stepping closer so Niall has to really bend his fingers. Harry likes looking at Niall’s knuckles all rounded, makes him think of the times when Niall’s opening up his arse, going slow with his scissoring. Knuckles first. One, and then two. Twisting his wrist like he’s doing now, taking his time until Harry tells him he wants more, tells him he wants to feel more.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“My face is up here,” Niall says, getting the last button undone.

Harry starts to roll his eyes and stops. It’s like they’re squeaky dry. He gets out of his shirt and takes the jumper Niall is offering up again.

It’s soft and smells like buttery toast. Harry pops his head through the hole and Niall fixes his hair for him, his fingers so gentle around Harry’s neck and down his shoulders. It’s been ages since he felt Niall like this, and he wants to. He really wants to. He rests his hand on Niall’s thigh. “Can we?” he asks, as lightly as he can.

Niall worries his lip, silent. Harry wishes he knew what Niall is thinking whenever Niall is looking at him like there’s just one thing he’s focused on. “We’re watching the tournament first,” Niall finally says.

Either he’s counting on Harry falling asleep or he’s forgotten the tournament is in Hawaii. “But it doesn’t end till three,” Harry reminds him.

“Later,” Niall says, and gets off the bar chair. 

Harry sighs and goes to the living room with a bottle of water from the fridge. He turns on the telly and the digibox, looks for the golf channel on the Favourites list, smelling sweet popcorn in the air.

He’s checking on his Neko Atsume cats when Niall comes in with a large bowl and a beer for himself. Harry grabs another coaster from the holder and puts it down on the table near his.

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Harry replies, going back to his phone. He puts his arm up when Niall makes a place on the couch next to him.

Niall settles in the crook of his arm, the warm bowl of popcorn balanced on both their laps.

Harry asks if Niall has been following the tournament since the first day and Niall tells him about what he’s managed to catch, about who surprisingly and unsurprisingly made the cut and who didn’t. 

When the coverage switches to Jason Day on the twelfth hole, Niall peters off, focusing on the TV. 

Harry wonders if Niall will go visit the Days when he’s in Australia. He knows so many people there now. A part of Harry wishes he could come with.

He rests his head against Niall’s, noses at his hair. There’s more eau de toast to chase down, right to the skin where it’s a little greasy. 

“Did you have toast for dinner?”

“No.”

He puts his hand down Niall’s shirt, tugs lightly at the hairs on Niall’s chest.

“I missed you.”

Niall makes a soft noise.

The tournament is in Maui, everything lush along the sides of the fairways. Niall probably wishes he were there right now. It’s doable, Harry thinks. Next year. If the album is out and he doesn’t need to think about whether it’s going to sell or not. If Niall wants to get away with him. 

He drags his fingertips up and down Niall’s chest. “Niall, can I suck you off?”

The bowl bumps against his knee, the popcorn shaken into a perfect plane.

“Harry,” Niall gets out from under his arm. “Come on.”

“’S not gonna be weird, Niall. Rory’s not in it, is he?” he asks, feeling Niall twitch at the mention of him and hating Rory a little bit more. Hate is probably too strong a word. Dislike very much, then. “They can’t switch to him. You won’t have to think about us both at the same time.”

“Willie’s gonna be back any minute,” Niall says, a low rumble in his voice, like when half his mind is on golf and the other on cock. 

Hate is probably not that strong a word. There’s a doodle in one of Harry’s notebooks of him going twelve rounds with Rory and winning. It’s one of his happy places, but the notebook is at his mum’s. “Your cousin should move out and get his own place,” he mutters.

“You offering to move in?”

“What,” Harry says, something rough in his throat, “is he like, paying you rent now? What else did I miss? I was only gone three weeks. Wait. I know. You and Rory got engaged but he texted you to call it off.” 

He’s regretting it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Rory was a dick to his fiancée, but that’s not for him to bring up. If Niall starts on Kendall they’ll have a stupid row and he’ll have to sleep in the guest room. He doesn’t like it there, not when Niall isn’t in bed with him. 

But all Niall says, with an amused smile on his face, is: “Are you gonna be arsey all night unless I fuck you?”

Dodged it, thank god. Harry lets out a long-suffering sigh anyway and takes out his phone. “Fine. But if I’m tired when you do feel like fucking me, you’re doing all the work.”

“I missed you too,” Niall says a little later with a small bump of his shoulder against Harry’s. 

Harry smiles, closes his eyes for a moment, lets the feeling run through him. When he opens them back up, there’s an American he’s never heard of putting for par on the fourteenth green and Niall half on top of him, snoring lightly into his chest. He feels for his phone, finds it in the near empty bowl on the floor, and checks on his cats. 

They’re okay for now. He doesn’t have enough points to get a bigger yard, but he can take care of it in the morning.

He puts his phone away and his arms around Niall, falls asleep dreaming about Niall fucking into him, slow and grumpy and sweet, about crunchy smoothies for breakfast after, about the things easy to live with, the things easy to want.

 

~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm [fromward](http://fromward.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
